In the Dark
by JudyH
Summary: Sam arrived too late to save Dean in his battle with Metatron. But what happens next? Picks up where the season 9 finale left us hanging. Major spoilers for "Do You Believe in Miracles?"
1. Chapter 1

**In the Dark**

"Life isn't easy from the singular side  
Down in the hole, some emotions are hard to hide  
It's your decision, it's a chance that you take  
It's on your head, it's a habit that's hard to break" - Billy Squier, _In the Dark_

His knees were aching, circulation in his legs almost gone from what felt like hours, crouched on the cold stone floor. After reading the incantation for the third time, Sam rose stiffly to his feet, his anger smoldering like the dying embers in the chalice before him. With a furious kick, he sent the bowl and its repugnant contents flying across the room.

"Where the hell are you, Crowley?"

He paced, back and forth, from wall to wall, smoking remnants of ingredients he preferred not to think about scattered like dust under his feet. Tears of frustration burned his eyes as Sam stopped at the doorway that would take him down the shadowed hallway to _that room_. The room where the battered, bloody body of his brother lay, silent and cold. The room he could not bring himself to enter again, once he had sat and stared and cried and raged and pleaded with any entity that would listen, to no avail.

So, he had dragged himself to the library, pouring one drink after another, until he realized he was drinking from Dean's favorite glass. Then the alcohol had surged back through his system like liquid fire, and Sam had spent the next twenty minutes puking his guts out and crying like the girl Dean would obviously accuse him of being.

The decision to summon Crowley was an easy one. The hard choice would be whether Sam would kill him on sight, or bargain...once again...for a deal to bring his brother back. But, like so many events in the younger Winchester's life, this decision was out of his hands as well, as no amount of chanting and casting of spells would bring the King of Hell to the Batcave.

Out of options and dangerously close to losing his composure once again, Sam clenched his fist and threw a wild roundhouse swing at the stone wall. Inches from impact, an iron grip grasped his arm and swung him around. Crowley stepped back as Sam turned on him, fire in his eyes and steel in his voice.

"Where...have you been?" Sam advanced on him, but Crowley stood his ground.

"I'm not your personal assistant, Moose. I do have other things to do besides being at your beck and call." Crowley glanced around the room, eyebrows lifted at the disarray scattered across the floor. "What, no devil's trap this time? No _enchanted_ handcuffs?"

"No."

Crowley studied him through narrowed eyes, then nodded to himself as he strolled leisurely across the room. As he reached the doorway, he stopped, glancing down the hall before turning back again.

"You know, you really should get better writers. You can't just keep recycling the same old script over and over. The fans will turn on you, you know."

"What the hell are you babbling on about, you son of a bitch?"

"No need to get nasty," Crowley said as he kicked a blackened bone fragment out of his path; it clattered against the upended spell chalice and rolled away. "I just think you Winchesters need some fresh material, that's all. I mean, you die for him, he dies for you. It all gets rather boring after a while."

"You think I want to make a deal." Sam released a strangled laugh that turned Crowley in his tracks. The demon looked genuinely puzzled as he returned Sam's unblinking stare.

"Well, of course you want to deal. That's what you two _do...consistently. _I could make more money betting on the Winchesters than I did on the Kentucky Derby. And believe me, I made a killing on that."

"That's where you're wrong." Sam's voice was steady, his eyes clear and cold as he advanced on the demon, who involuntarily took a step back. "This time, _you're_ gonna deal with _me_."

"And why would I? You..._humans..._make the deals. That's how it works." Crowley turned away with a smile that turned Sam's stomach and tempted the grieving brother to retrieve the smoking chalice from the floor and crush the smirking demon's skull.

"Because if you don't fix what you did, I will spend the rest of my life tracking you, until the day I finally put you down. And that's not an idle threat."

"What I did?" Crowley chuckled and shook his head. "I gave your testosterone driven brother what he asked for. He wanted the First Blade; I told him how to get it. Not my fault he wasn't up to the task."

"You son of a _bitch_..." Sam took a step toward Crowley, fists clenched and voice shaking. "You knew what the Blade and the Mark would do to him. You should have told me...you should have told _him_."

"I did. Maybe not soon enough, but I did." Crowley paused, then tilted his head as he continued:

"Just a few minutes ago, in fact."

Sam stared, speechless, for a long moment as the demon's words sank in. "What? What did you s-say?" Sam barely recognized the voice as his own, as the words tumbled out in little more than a whisper.

"You thought I didn't come when you called." Crowley strolled over to a shelf and casually examined a brass paperweight, lifting it and turning it in his hand. "I came. I just paid your brother a visit first."

"Why? To gloat? To..." Sam felt the anger rising inside him again. "To celebrate?"

Crowley ducked his head and when he looked up, Sam could have sworn he saw...something...sympathy, perhaps...in the demon's eyes. Then it was gone as Crowley slowly shook his head.

"Actually, no. Believe it or not, Moose, I was rooting for your brother. Always did like to see an underdog come out on top. But you're not paying attention here." He stepped closer and fixed Sam with an unblinking stare. "I spoke to him. Not to the corpse you dragged in here. I spoke to _him_. Just a few minutes ago, in fact."

Sam felt his knees go weak and for a moment, he thought the demon was about to reach out to steady him. "He's...alive? You brought him back?"

"No."

"Then what..."

"it was the Blade." The demon said. "How do you think it has survived all these millenia? It finds a host and it doesn't let go. A Biblical parasite, you might say."

"But..." Sam hesitated, not sure he wanted to hear the answer to his next question. "Dean's alive?"

"In a manner of speaking," Crowley said.

Sam moved toward the doorway, only to have Crowley block his way. "You do understand that what you're going to find in that room is not your brother."

"Get out of my way," Sam growled, but the demon stood fast.

"Before you go down there," Crowley said, "Think this through. Think about what you're going to see. Remember what happened to Cain when he surrendered to the power of that blade. Think about what he became."

"A demon." The words slipped out before Sam could stop them. He took a deep breath, looked over Crowley's shoulder to the hallway beyond, and then slipped past him to the door.

"He's my brother." Sam said. "He's alive and right now, that's enough for me."

He stopped in the doorway and glanced down the hallway, taking another deep breath before glancing back at the demon. "By the way, once I see that you're not lying to me, I'll be back, and you _will_ fix this. Because I _did _lie to you about something."

"Oh, really?"Crowley's smug expression had returned as he crossed his arms and returned the younger Winchester's stare.

"I said no devil's trap, but actually..." Sam pointed to a faint line just outside the door. "That whole room is a devil's trap. So make yourself at home, 'cause you aren't going anywhere."

In any other situation, the anger that suffused Crowley's face as he cursed and turned away would have been a satisfying source of satisfaction for Sam. But, as he walked slowly down the hallway toward his brother's room, Sam had already dismissed the demon's plight from his mind.

He had a brother to save.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

The closer Sam got to Dean's bedroom door, the slower his steps became. By the time he reached the doorway, the younger Winchester's knees were failing him and there was an uncontrollable tremor in his hands. He paused, back pressed against the frigid stone wall, suddenly unable to catch his breath.

The impulse to run to his brother was automatic, instinctive, as soon as Crowley dropped his bombshell (_he's alive...he's alive)_. The self appointed King of Hell had intimated that Dean was not himself anymore (_in a manner of speaking, Crowley had warned)._ The possibility that the Mark of Cain had transformed him into something unspeakable was a small point to Sam. Both of them had been to Hell, for God's sake. They had seen and suffered through unimaginable horrors, and had, somehow, survived. Whatever lay beyond that door, whatever had been done could be undone. They had done it before.

Sam took a steadying breath and moved to the door...the door that was now closed. _Please, please don't let it be locked._ He placed a shaking hand out and it swung open.

The room was dark, shadowed and cold. Sam blinked to hasten his night vision; he could have sworn the lights were on before; now only the light filtering over his shoulder lit his way. His breath caught as he barely made out the rumpled, bloody bed where he had tenderly placed his brother's body a few hours before. It was empty now and Sam felt his heart catch. A snapping sound drew his eyes to the right, where Dean's desk occupied the far corner of the room. He recognized the sound of the antique lamp Dean had discovered in the library and promptly claimed for his own when they moved in. A light flared in the corner and Sam blinked, his eyes promptly filling with tears.

_...snap...snap...snap..._

Dean sat hunched in a faded office chair, his back to the door. He gave no indication that he was aware of his brother's arrival. The light flared on..and off...and on...and off...as Dean's bloodied hand snapped the switch back and forth. Each flare of the lamp briefly illuminated his silhouette: head bowed, shoulders stooped, and then the light would go out momentarily and the room would fall silent except for Sam's stuttered breathing.

Sam wanted to speak, _tried_ to speak, but the words wouldn't come (_there aren't words, Dean had said once.)_ If it was true, if what Crowley had said had actually happened (_and there he is, alive, so you do the math, college boy), _what could he possibly say? How would he stop his brother if he tried to leave, if he attacked Sam in a demonic frenzy or...God help him...if he didn't even _recognize_ Sam anymore?

So, he took one tentative step into the room, watched his brother's hand go still on the switch as the light died away and the shadows crept across his unmoving form. _What the hell is the deal with the lamp? _He took one more step; unsure in the near darkness how close he was when Dean's hand moved again and the harsh _snap_ flooded his pale, swollen face with an artificial, ghastly glow. He seemed to be staring directly into the blinding light, unblinking, unfocused, and seemingly unaware of his brother's approach.

When Sam leaned forward to take another step, Dean's hand shot out from the desk, palm out toward his brother in an unmistakable signal to stop. Sam froze, so many thoughts tumbling through his head, none of them making out through his trembling lips. Finally the only words that mattered came out in a voice so strong, even Sam was surprised:

"Dean...I'm here."

to be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you**** so much for the follows and the feedback. It means more than you will ever know. **

**A short chapter here, with more to follow soon:**

**In the Dark**

**Chapter Three**

There are certain things in life that are a certainty, not to be altered by man or God. Death and taxes, of course, although death, grim and terrifying as it may be, fell into the "been there, done that" file for the Winchesters. Taxes...well, flying under the radar with no discernable means of income meant that was not an issue either. Going into a hunt unprepared most certainly meant winging it and hoping for the best. Any other events the brothers had lived..and died...through were fluid, unpredictable.

One thing Sam Winchester had always been able to know with unwavering certainty, through good times and bad, through pain and death, anger and reconciliation, was how his brother would react in any given situation.

This was not one of those times.

He stood, silently watching his brother's profile in the flickering light of the desk lamp, waiting for a response (_"Dean..I'm here."). _A full minute passed with no indication that his brother heard him, other than the bloody hand that had warned him back now lay still upon the lamp switch, as if ready to plunge the room into darkness again and dismiss his anxious, waiting brother from his presence.

This was his brother, back from the dead, and yet...Sam suddenly wasn't so sure. Having his brother plucked from the grave was a gift, but there was a terrible price attached. The only question was which of them would be the one to ultimately pay it.

Dean had yet to look in Sam's direction, but Sam knew his brother was aware of his presence. Just as he took a shaky breath to speak again, Dean turned his head slightly toward him and Sam waited. A voice he barely recognized, like ground glass on concrete, finally uttered the last words Sam expected to hear:

"Why did you do it?"

"W-what?" It was not the question the younger Winchester expected: not "How?" or "What happened?" He hesitated, unable to answer a question he didn't understand, and before he could speak again, Dean had moved with unnatural swiftness, out of the chair, bloodied hands around Sam's neck as he pinned him against the wall.

"Why did you..." Dean's grip tightened around his brother's neck, nails clawing into his skin. " Why did you do _this_ to me?"

"Dean..." Sam wrapped both hands around his brother's forearms and pulled, but his hands slipped in the blood coating his brother's skin and he gasped as the chokehold pinched off his air supply. " I didn't..."

Their eyes met and Sam flinched at the sight of bottomless black that stared back at him. Then a powerful fist filled his fading vision, followed by a crushing blow that slammed his head back against the stone wall. The last thing Sam saw before his vision faded altogether was the snarling face of his brother as he drew back his fist for another blow.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**_"_**You never listen to the voices inside**_  
_**They fill your ears as you run to a place to hide**_  
_**You're never sure if the illusion is real**_  
_**You pinch yourself but the memories are all you feel"-In the Dark, Billy Squier

**In the Dark**

**Chapter 4**

"Sam? Sammy?"

Dean's voice sounded...strange. Sam wondered what was wrong, and when he opened his eyes, or the one eye that _would_ open, he remembered why.

He was lying on the cold stone floor, curled on his side like a child. His face felt swollen and tight, and as Sam rolled over with a groan, blood that had pooled in his mouth slid down his throat. It took several tries before he was able to sit upright and spit the copper tinged goo onto the floor.

He slid backward until his shoulders met the footboard of Dean's bed. Only then did he blink the fog of unconsciousness from his eyes and track his brother's voice to the far corner of the room.

Dean was sitting in the shadows in the opposite corner, arms wrapped around his knees, watching him with hooded eyes. The rest of the room was now brightly lit, the lamp lying on its side on the floor, as was everything else that had previously been arranged neatly on the desktop. It looked like a tornado had swept through the room. It looked to Sam like rampages Dean had gone on in the past, usually when he was furious with something beyond his control. Sam had seen it before, had been the catalyst for a few of the destructive episodes himself.

He blinked furiously, but with his raging headache and one eye almost swollen shut, he couldn't clearly see Dean's eyes. Or maybe Dean was intentionally not letting him see them by maintaining his distance and shifting his gaze to the floor by his feet. Sam wasn't sure if he was ready for what Crowley had warned him he would see: the black, bottomless, soulless eyes of a demon? _Demons lie_, Dean had told him countless times, and yet Crowley had no reason to lie to Sam. _Not when the truth was worse._

"Why did you do it?" Dean repeated the question from earlier, before he had gone ballistic and decided to beat the crap out of his brother without waiting for the answer.

"I tried..." Sam coughed and spit out more pink tinged phlegm before continuing. " Tried to tell you before. I didn't do this..."

"Don't lie to me."

"It was the Mark." Sam sat up slowly, leaning forward in a vain attempt to meet his brother's eyes. "It took hold of you and wouldn't let you go."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Dean's voice was hollow, grainy, as if he had been shouting for some time.

"How do you think Cain survived all this time? It needed him to survive. And...it brought you back." He took a shaky breath, staring at the brother he had no hopes of seeing alive again, just a few hours before. "But I'm glad."

Dean still refused to look up, but Sam saw his shoulders tense and his fists clench. "What did you say?" His growl took Sam by surprise; the anger so palpable in his voice that Sam realized he needed to choose his words more carefully.

"You were...gone, Dean. You were gone and I...I couldn't help you. But...now you're here, and maybe I can."

Dean fell silent for a long moment, then finally, slowly, looked up and over at his brother. Sam met his gaze, his breath catching as the reflection of bloodshot, but intimately familiar green eyes shone back at him. _Crowley lied...damn him, he lied..._

"No, he didn't," Dean said softly as Sam realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. "This is what I've become." He lowered his head, and when he looked back at Sam again, eyes black as charcoal fixed Sam with a macabre stare.

"God..." Sam breathed as he stared, transfixed at the sudden transformation.

"Not even close," Dean replied.

Sam felt his brother's gaze sweep over him, cataloging his injuries, and yet Sam saw no concern, no remorse in Dean's face. It was like being stared at by a stranger.

"I want you to get out of here."

Sam shook his head, immediately regretting it as the room tilted and nausea surged up his gut. "Not going anywhere." He swallowed bile and blood, blinking to clear his vision. Out of the corner of his functioning eye he saw the Blade, lying between them on the floor. He saw Dean's hooded eyes drop to the weapon as well. When their eyes met again, shimmering green had replaced the frigid black once again.

"Sammy, I could have killed you." Dean's voice sounded almost normal, almost..._human_.

"You didn't. You won't."

"Not me, but..." Dean swallowed, holding his hands out in front of him for Sam to see. His knuckles were swollen and bloody, and Sam knew not all of the blood was from his brother's fatal injuries. "This..._thing..._I can't control it. I already hurt you. I can't promise you I won't do it again."

"I'm not asking for a promise. I just want you to give me a chance to help you."

"_No."_

"Why not? I can do it, Dean. _We _can do it. You just have to …."

In an instant Dean was on his feet, looming over Sam with such a predatory expression that Sam involuntarily flinched away. Dean was breathing hard, fists clenching as he stood over him. "It's too late, Sam." His eyes were lost in his battered face, and yet Sam could tell the light that had been there a moment ago was gone.

"You can't fix this. What's done is done, and..."

Sam knew what his brother's next words would be before they left his lips. His whispered "_No,_" was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears as Dean flexed his hand and the Blade lifted from the floor and slipped into his blood stained palm:

"What's dead should stay dead."

s*s*s*s*s*s*s*s

Sam didn't remember staggering to his feet, or stumbling out the door into the hall. For a terrifying moment, his addled brain wondered what he would do if Dean decided to just walk out the door and disappear. Then he remembered that Crowley's current abode wasn't the only room surrounded by a devil's trap; all of them, every room in the bunker, was encircled by the protective markings. That might have had something to do with the destruction Sam had seen upon awakening: Dean had forgotten he couldn't just leave the room now and he was pissed.

Somehow he found his way to his own room, holding onto furniture until he grasped the edge of the chipped porcelain sink in his tiny bath. Once again he gave in to the sickness that burned his throat and squeezed fiery tears from his eyes. He couldn't breathe...he couldn't _think_, and finally he let gravity have its way with him as he sank slowly to the cold tile floor.

Some measure of time passed as he sat, staring blankly into space. Finally, Sam pushed himself to his feet, swaying drunkenly as he waited for the room to right itself. He found himself looking into the mirror, impassively cataloging the damage his brother had done.

His left eye sported an impressive bruise, almost completely swollen shut. Dried blood caked his nose and lips, trailing down his chin and under the collar of his shirt. He touched his cheekbone gingerly; it felt hot and tight but thankfully no bones shifted under his hand. His forearms were blackened and bruised from his vain effort to shield his face from Dean's blows, and one finger felt broken. He didn't need to touch the lump on the back of his head to know it was there, twisting his scalp like a belt pulled a couple of notches too tight.

_Could have been worse. He could have killed you._

Despite his denial to the contrary, Sam knew this to be true. Something inside his brother had snapped, but something else had held him back, dousing the fire of his anger enough to allow him to pull back before it was too late.

_Too late._

Dean said it was too late, and, God help him, Sam was afraid he could be right. His reminder that they knew how to cure a demon now had been rebuffed immediately. This wasn't the brother he knew and loved; the guardian and protector and hero of Sam's childhood...hell, his entire _life_. The Dean he knew _never_ gave up. He survived the nightmare of their upbringing, clawed his way out of hell, fought his way out of Purgatory. And most importantly, he never gave up on Sam: the brother that rejected their life, that lied and deceived and betrayed his trust time and time again. Dean had pulled him from the edge more times than he could count, and it was time that Sam showed his brother that his efforts truly meant something.

As Sam washed away the blood and dabbed at cuts with the rough towel, he gazed at his reflection again and came to a decision. His track record at saving his older brother in the past was a sad one; good intentions with piss poor results.

This time was going to be different. This was the end game: not the forty years in Hell, not Lucifer, or Purgatory, or the aborted trials to close the hellgates. Saving Dean from eternity as a demon would be the final test of Sam's true worth, because if he failed this time, nothing else mattered. Nothing he had done or would ever do in his life would be as important as this.

Sam stopped long enough to exchange his bloody shirt for a clean one before stepping to the doorway. He paused, glancing down the shadowed hall toward the room where his brother was most certainly plotting a way to make his escape. Sam had no illusions that Dean would quietly bide his time and wait for his brother to come up with a plan to save him; again, his track record on that spoke for itself.

After taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Sam turned in the opposite direction, his footsteps echoing as he approached his destination.

He had work to do.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

**In the Dark**

**Chapter Five:**

Sam sat back from the table, groaning as his back popped with the movement. He wiped ink smeared hands across his burning eyes, peering wearily at the disorganized piles of books, ledgers and files that surrounded him.

All day and into the night he had dragged out tomes of records, anything and everything in the bunker's archives that might hold a clue as to what he...or more precisely, Dean...was dealing with. To keep from falling on his face with exhaustion, Sam would, periodically, walk the damp, dark hallways leading to his captives' rooms.

Demons, apparently, didn't sleep. It was something Sam should have remembered from his dalliance with Ruby. He hadn't paid too much attention to it at the time; Ruby slept and ate when she wanted to, but not because she _had_ to. Each time Sam had checked in on Dean, the older Winchester was, for lack of a better word, _busy._ Sometimes he was pacing, muttering to himself and tossing a few choice, obscene words Sam's way. Other times he sat quietly, holding the First Blade reverently like a child. Those were the times Sam had to step away from the doorway and keep walking, bile rising like fire in his throat, praying the Devil's Trap would hold him and wanting to throw up at the thought of having to use it on his own brother.

But the times that twisted his gut the most were the times when Dean would meet his gaze and nod slowly, his eyes their normal, crystal green hue, as if telling Sam he understood his imprisonment, and that his little brother was doing the right thing.

Farther down the hall, it was a different story. Sam felt his anger rising like a tidal wave each time he approached Crowley's door. The self appointed King of Hell had made himself comfortable in a ladder back chair, feet crossed at the ankles and a sickeningly smug smile on his face. The fact that Crowley would probably snap his neck if he entered the room was the only thing that kept Sam from going in and venting his anger on the demon's smirking face.

Sam was beyond exhausted and he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. But before he could attempt either, he was drawn to walk the hallway one more time. He paused outside Dean's door, silently watching as Dean stopped pacing the perimeter of the room and turned to face him.

"How long you planning on keeping me here?" Dean asked, his voice monotone, expression blank.

"You got somewhere to be?" Sam leaned against the doorway, careful to stay outside the protective circle.

"I can't stay here." Dean resumed his restless pacing around the room. He glared over his shoulder at Sam. "I can't...I can't _breathe_."

"This is the best place for you right now," Sam said. His brother's answering growl left no doubt about Dean's opinion of that observation.

"This your version of a panic room, Sammy?" Dean turned to face him, his face twisted in a sneer and his eyes once again obsidian black. "Looking for a little payback for the times I locked _you _up like a rabid dog 'til you sweated and screamed out the demon blood? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, it ain't gonna work this time."

Before Sam could reply, Dean was in his face, the toes of his scuffed boots mere inches from the perimeter of the Devil's trap. He grinned as Sam flinched and stepped back. "You scared of me, little brother?"

"No."

"Bullshit."

"Look," Sam took a steadying breath and forced himself to meet his brother's macabre stare. "I'm gonna..."

"Fix this?" Dean threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, vicious sound that made Sam's mouth go dry. "YOU can't fix this. Nobody can."

"That's where you're wrong."

Sam watched his brother extend his hand toward the Blade lying on the desk. It vibrated against the wood for a moment, then levitated into the air and into its master's waiting hand. Dean turned again toward the doorway, his expression morphed from venom to contentment in the space of a few seconds.

"Like it or not, Sammy boy, this is how it is now. This is me, this is what I am..."

"_No..._"

"And if you know what's good for you, you'll just keep out of my way."

"I'm not letting you out of here, you know that."

Dean shook his head. "It's only a matter of time. I'll get out."

"And go where? Why won't you give me time to find a way out of this for you?" Sam stepped forward, his frustration overwhelming his common sense. He saw his brother's eyes blink, heavily, their familiar green hue back again, almost glowing in the harsh fluorescent overhead light. Their eyes met as both brothers realized Sam's mistake at the same instant.

"Sammy... get out." Dean had backed up against the far wall, the Blade still clutched in his hand.

Sam instinctively glanced down, saw his feet planted well within the demonic circle. He looked up, saw Dean's white knuckle grip on the blade's curved handle, his shoulders shaking.

"_Get out...__**now.**_"

Sam wanted...needed...to believe his brother wouldn't hurt him. But this was not his brother. This...creature... in his brother's body could kill him in an instant...could have already done so, if not for the supreme effort of willpower Dean was exhibiting now. There was enough of Dean left, somewhere beneath the Mark's control, that was giving Sam the time he needed to escape, to step out of the Devil's Trap where Dean couldn't follow.

Sam backtracked, staggering backwards until his shoulders collided with the stone wall outside Dean's room. He wanted to simply slide down the wall, collapse there, but he kept his knees locked, his sweaty palms flat against the stone of the hallway. He felt Dean's eyes on him but refused to look back into the room. He turned toward the library, placing one foot in front of the other until he reached the doorway of his own room.

Exhaustion pulled Sam toward the bed he hadn't used since bringing his brother's body home countless hours before. Bitter tears of frustration burned his heavy eyes as he collapsed onto the rumpled covers, the sound of his brother's demonic laughter echoing down the hallway as he finally closed his eyes.

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

My apologies for the long delay in updating. I have learned my lesson: never start posting before the story is completed. But, three surgeries and a month of convalescence behind me for my husband, and I have finally found time to get back to this story. Thanks for hanging in there; I promise to do better from here on!

**In the Dark**

**Chapter Six**

Sam awoke some time later, his body stiff and face aching and tight from the beating earlier. He had no idea what time it was; his watch said 2:41, but whether it was morning or afternoon was impossible to tell inside the bunker. He stood in the shower until he felt himself drifting off again, then stepped out, mechanically going through the motions of getting dressed as if it were any other day. _As if..._

Ignoring the lure of his computer and the haphazard stacks of books, he wandered into the kitchen and forced himself to eat. Four aspirin and a half pot of coffee later, he felt ready to face the day.

First stop was the doorway of Dean's room, where his brother sat, First Blade in hand, idly carving gashes into what was probably a priceless mahogany desk. When it became painfully obvious that his brother...if that's what he was now... was pointedly ignoring him, Sam sighed and plodded slowly down the hall.

He paused in the doorway of what had become Crowley's prison cell. The King of Hell sat, ankles crossed and pen in hand, frowning over a yellowed sheet of newsprint folded over his lap.

"I say, Moose, this one has me bloody stumped." He waved the paper in Sam's direction. Sam caught a fleeting glimpse of an inked smeared checkerboard square in the corner before the demon folded the paper precisely again and smoothed it out against the crisp lines of his suit. "What's a nine letter word for 'deliverance'?"

Sam stared a moment: "Are you serious?"

"Ah, well..." Crowley returned his glare without blinking. "Never did care much for word games, anyhow."

"We need to talk." Sam said.

"Here to make a deal, are you?" Crowley sat back in his chair with a smirk. " My bread and butter. So talk."

"No deals. I need information and you' re gonna give it to me."

Crowley tilted his head as if he were considering it. "Sounds like a deal to me."

"I want Cain's location."

The demon blinked, a surprised expression on his face. "You want what again?"

"You heard me."

Crowley was shaking his head before Sam finished speaking. " That has to be one of the worst ideas I have ever heard you come up with, Moose. You don't want anything to do with him. Hell, _I_ don't want anything to do with him."

Sam drew himself up to his considerable height in the doorway. " I didn't ask you what you wanted. I know you know where he is; you took Dean there. I want you to take me there."

Crowley rose from his chair and circled around it, shaking his head. "Why? You think he's going to offer to take back his Mark, if you flutter your lashes at him and ask nicely? He carried that curse for thousands of years and now he's free of it."

"Exactly," Sam said. "He's your run of the mill demon now, which makes you stronger than him. You could force him to take the Mark back."

Crowley exploded in laughter, pacing around the chair again and wiping his eyes before turning back to face the younger Winchester. "You have totally gone off the deep end if you think that's ever going to happen. He might not be supercharged with the Mark anymore, but he's still an ancient, powerful demon. I like to think of myself as fairly impressive myself, but..."

"But you're scared of him," Sam goaded.

"You're damned right I am, and for good reason." Crowley settled back into the chair and picked up the crossword puzzle again. " Picking your battles is how you stay on top. Besides, even if you could cancel out the Mark's hold on your brother, there's still the little matter of him being a full fledged demon now to deal with. Way above your pay scale, Sam."

"One battle at a time, Crowley, like you said." Sam stepped back from the doorway. "I know you think you and Dean are gonna team up and be best buddies, but you should consider this." He leaned back into the doorway again, inches from the protective demon's trap etched into the stone floor.

" Dean has never been one to take orders. He leads...he doesn't follow. How long after you two escape from here...and I know the two of you will figure something out sooner or later...before he decides to depose the King and take over the throne himself? And you know with the power of the Blade and the Mark, he will."

Sam stepped back, a satisfied smile crossing his features at the sudden, sullen look on his adversary's face. "If you leave here with Dean, he'll cut you down the first chance he gets. If you work with me...well, I think you'd have a better chance with Cain. You think about it."

Sam turned to leave, then stopped and looked back into the room where Crowley sat, his eyes hooded and hands tightly gripping the brittle newsprint. "Salvation." he said.

"What are you babbling about?" the demon growled.

"A nine letter word for 'deliverance'," Sam said over his shoulder as he walked away.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**This is short, but more to follow very soon! Thanks for your patience!**

**Chapter Seven:**

Slumped at the library table, Sam stared wearily at the haphazard stacks of books in front of him. _So much information, and all of it worthless_. He resisted the urge to just get up and walk away from it all, from the bunker and his brother and his _life_, because hadn't _that_ just worked out so well in the past? It was several seconds before the buzzing of his cell phone dragged him back to the present. He stared at the text display and the name displayed there for a moment, before sprinting up the stairs to unlock the door.

The figure framed in the doorway was dusty and disheveled, and possibly the sweetest sight Sam had beheld in a long, long time. He reached out and grabbed the man in a hug; after a moment the hug was stiffly returned.

"Sam," Castiel said as he awkwardly patted the taller man's back. "I was not sure I would find you here."

Sam huffed a pale imitation of a laugh as he ushered the angel inside and locked the door. "Where else would I be?"

The two men descended the stairs; Castiel watched as Sam poured an unhealthy amount of Scotch into a tumbler and downed it in one long draw. Sam watched as Castiel's eyes swiveled around the room, knowing what his next question would be, and dreading putting the answer into words.

"Where...is Dean?"

Sam stared into the empty glass and sighed. "How much do you know?"

"Metatron said he was dead."

When Sam looked away and didn't respond, Castiel stepped closer, trying in vain to catch the younger Winchester's gaze. "Tell me that is not true."

"I wish I could."

Castiel studied him for a long moment, then: "There is more."

Sam's face twisted into a sad smile as he pushed the glass away and sat wearily in his chair. "Yeah. There is."

Castiel sat down at the table and listened as Sam recounted the events that led to his brother and the King of Hell being imprisoned in demon trap protected cells in the bunker. The angel remained silent until Sam presented his plan to have Crowley take him to Cain.

"That is a very foolish thing to consider," Castiel said as he rose from his seat to stare down the hallway over Sam's shoulder. "Cain is more dangerous than any demon you have faced before."

"More dangerous than Dean will be if he gets out of here with Crowley and takes the Blade with him?"

Castiel stared him down: "More dangerous to you."

Sam stood, towering over the angel, but Castiel held in gaze in defiance. "There is nothing you can offer Cain that would make him take back the Mark. "

"Then give me another option, Cas, 'cause right now I am fresh out of ideas." Sam found himself back at the bar, with the tumbler in one hand and the half empty bottle in the other. "I need your help. Dean put his ass on the line more than once for you. The least you can do is help him now...help _me_ help him." He turned, the empty glass still clutched in his hand.

"Please."

Castiel stood a moment, thinking. Then he turned toward the hallway, nodding to Sam as he passed.

"I guess you want to talk to Dean? Good luck with that," Sam said as he fell in step beside the angel.

"No," Castiel replied. "I want to talk to Crowley."

TBC


End file.
